Born of Night (The League #1)(18)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

“I’ve got a few things to take care of.”

She unrolled the wrapping paper and cut a square large enough for the box. “Can’t Darling stay with me instead of Hauk?”

He arched a questioning brow.

She realized too late what he must be thinking. “It’s not because he’s Andarion,” she snapped irritably, wrapping the paper around the box. “Even you have to admit Hauk’s not the nicest person.”

He relaxed. “I guess not.” He paused before he spoke again. “Darling has his own things to do. Hauk just likes to intimidate people. Stand up to him and he’ll back down.”

“Or have me fricasseed by the time you return.”

“There’s always that possibility.”

With a grimace, Kiara finished wrapping her present, then put her things away.

Hours passed excruciatingly slowly while Nykyrian worked and Kiara tried to find some way to occupy her time. Because of her career, she’d never spent much time at home. She was either rehearsing or performing. Doing interviews or PR or charity work. She ran from minute to minute at a record pace. So lying here on her bed, staring at the ceiling, was irritating her.

What did people do when they stayed home all day?

It was mind-numbing.

After awhile, she got up and went to the studio to practice. She might not be able to perform for the next few weeks, but she couldn’t afford to let her muscles stiffen.

In spite of Nykyrian’s best efforts to concentrate on the boring reports he was reviewing, the sound of Kiara’s dance music lured him. Without conscious thought, he found himself walking down the corridor to her studio.

His breath caught as he saw her in all her lithe glory twirling about the room. Her body glistened from her perspiration, and tendrils of her mahogany hair had come free from her tight bun. Every single move she made was a study in grace and beauty. She moved like water.

Chills ran down the length of his body as she jumped and gyrated. God, what he wouldn’t give or do for the right to peel the tight exercise suit off her body and make love to her for the rest of the night.

He gripped the wood of the door frame until his knuckles turned white.

Kiara spun about and caught a sudden flash of black and silver. She almost stumbled as she realized Nykyrian was watching her.

She froze in place. “I’m sorry.” She took deep, calming breaths, unsure of what made her more breathless, her exercise or his obvious interest. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

She reached to turn off the player.

“Don’t stop,” he said with an odd note she couldn’t quite place. “I love to watch you dance.”

Kiara let the next song begin. She walked up to him on her toes. Intending to awe him with her pirouette, she gasped as her foot gave way under her weight.

Nykyrian caught her before she fell. The sudden impact of strong muscles surrounding her stole her breath.

“Are you okay?”

She smiled at the warm concern in his voice. “It’s my ankle. I think I might have hurt it.”

He eased her to the floor.

Kiara wished she could think of some way to keep his arms around her, but his warmth vacated her and left her longing.

With deft movements, he unlaced her shoe and pulled it free. A hiss escaped his lips. Her eyes widened at the unexpected emotional display. “What happened to your foot?”

Kiara wiggled her toes and looked down at the member expecting to see it broken or swollen. Instead, it looked quite normal to her. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

He brushed his fingers over the ball of her foot as if he held a holy relic. Chills crept up her legs despite the burning sensation she felt where his hands touched her.

“You’ve got more blisters on your foot than I’ve got . . .” his voice trailed off.

Kiara gave a half laugh as she dismissed his concern. “It’s the hazards of my business. I’m used to them. They only hurt when they bleed.”

His grip tightened as he locked gazes with her. “You shouldn’t do this to yourself. I’m sure it hurts like hell.”

She studied his face, wishing she could see what he looked like without those dark shades. “Why would you care how anything makes me feel?”

“I don’t know. I just do.”

Warmth flooded her body as he used the same words for her that she’d used on him. Thinking only of how gorgeous he looked, she leaned over to kiss him.

For a moment, she thought she’d succeed, then he pulled away and released her foot.

“You should take a few days and let those blisters heal. At the rate you’re going, you’ll end up crippled by the time you’re thirty.”

Disgruntled, Kiara unlaced her other shoe before she snatched it off. “Why is it I have a feeling someone has said that to you?”

“In my case, it wasn’t crippled, it was dead.” The cold words hovered like a pall. As soon as he spoke them, he vanished like a silent specter.

Dread gnawed at her stomach as she stared after him. The blase delivery chilled her. It had sounded almost as if he wanted to die.

Why do you care?

You are a dancer. He’s a paid killer.

Yes, but she’d seen the kindness in him that he hid from the world, and she’d glimpsed some of the pain that he kept to himself. While she knew she should hate him, every day they were together, she discovered another part of his soul, and it wasn’t frightening.

It was strangely beautiful.

Nykyrian heard the shower come on after Kiara had entered the bathroom. He walked to the door and leaned his head against the panel, wanting, craving the courage to enter the room, to feel her arms wrapped around him.

He wanted her so badly that he ached from it.

But he knew better. Softness didn’t belong in his world and neither did beauty.

What kind of life could he offer her? A shot in the back one day because some ass**le wanted vengeance on him?

He had no choice but to remain alone. There was no room in his life for anyone.

Nykyrian sighed. He refused to think about what he wanted. His wants were unimportant. He had a job to do and that’s exactly what he was going to do.

Protect her, nothing more.

He pushed himself away from the door and returned to the main room so that he could work on his reports.

After a few minutes, Kiara came out and bid him good night in that wonderfully gentle voice, then she took herself to bed.

With a curse, Nykyrian snatched his boots off. In morbid retaliation to remind himself of what he was, he checked the retractable blades hidden in his boots. The cold steel shot out, glinting in the light. He fingered the blades, feeling the razor-sharp edge scrape against his skin. He was a killer, that was the only destiny he had.

Satisfied that he had controlled himself where Kiara was concerned, Nykyrian pushed the blades back into their hidden compartment and set the boots on the floor next to the couch.

With a sigh, he tossed his shades to the table and rubbed the bridge of his nose where they’d made an indentation. He should be used to wearing them, but, honestly, he hated the necessity.

He’d learned a long time ago that his eyes disturbed anyone who saw them. It was just easier for everyone to keep them covered.

Kiara’s bed squeaked under her weight as she shifted position. His c**k twitched in response. Too easily, he could imagine himself in there with her, brushing his hands over her body while she—

Stop!

He had to get her out of his thoughts. Pulling his shirt off, he gathered up his things for his own shower. Yeah, a cold shower would do wonders for his body.

Bullshit. But at least it would distract him. Steeling his willpower, he entered the bathroom and turned on the water, making sure he added no hot water at all.

I hate cold showers. And he took a sick pleasure in the pain of the icy water stabbing his body.

This was something he could handle. Pain had always been his best friend and, after a few minutes, he felt much better. Grateful he was in control again, he went to the kitchen to get something to drink.

Kiara’s door opened.

Nykyrian froze. He glanced to the low table in the main room and realized too late he was too far from his shades to get them on before she saw him.

Shit.

Having no choice but to wait for her to discover him, Nykyrian gripped the glass tightly.

Kiara yawned as she plodded down the hallway, belting her robe closed. She stopped as she reached the opening to the kitchen, her eyes riveted on Nykyrian’s bare back.

Wide, muscled shoulders tapered down to slim hips. More deep, white scars crisscrossed his tanned, well-muscled flesh than she could count. It looked as if he’d been beaten to the brink of death. Her heart twisted at the sight. She’d never in her life seen anything like it.

His left arm and shoulder were covered with brightly colored League markings—as they were for all assassins. The one on his bicep was the usual human skull with its jaw resting on a dagger’s hilt. The blade of the dagger came out of the top of the skull, where pieces of bone were flying in a macabrely beautiful image. But what made his tattoo special was the crown surrounding the skull and the red colors used to highlight it.

He was a Command Assassin of the First Order.

Holy saints . . . That was the hardest rank to achieve and only the most lethal of them, less than one percent, ever held it.

Yet against all common sense, she wasn’t afraid of him.

Her gaze returning to his scars, she crossed the room, longing to touch him and to soothe the skin puckered by welts. Her hand reached out, but she stopped it before she made contact with his flesh. He wouldn’t like that and he was too old for her to coddle.

“I was thirsty,” she whispered in an awkward apology.

Without facing her or making a single comment, Nykyrian pulled a glass down and handed it to her over his shoulder.

As she poured her juice, Kiara realized he was missing his shades. She was so surprised by that fact, she forgot what she was doing. Juice spilled over the rim of her glass, soaking the sleeve of her robe and splashing up against her feet and legs. Gasping, she plopped the glass and juice down on the counter and reached for a towel.

“I’ll clean it up,” he growled.

Kiara’s hand trembled as she tossed the towel back to the counter. She tried to see his face, but he turned away.

She took the hint. Despite the overwhelming curiosity, she grabbed her juice and left.

Racing to her room, she shook with emotions she couldn’t quite name and she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to know what they were or what they signified.

She wasn’t sure why she felt like she’d narrowly escaped death and yet . . .

Who was this man in her home?

* * *

Nykyrian wiped up the sticky juice, his thoughts and emotions churning. He wished for the strength it would take to trust Kiara. But experience had taught him that no one could be trusted.

He would have her assassins tracked down soon and hand them over to her father. With Bredeh and Pitala out of action, no one else would dare accept a contract on her life knowing The Sentella protected her. Then he would be free to return to his life.

Alone.

An ache twisted through him worse than any physical pain he’d ever experienced. Clenching his teeth, he vowed to himself to see Bredeh and Pitala caught soon before he made the worst mistake of his life.

You already did that when you left The League.

No. That had been easy. The worst mistake would be kissing a dancer whose touch he craved to the point of suicide.

CHAPTER 10

Kiara peeked around the corner of her hallway to watch Nykyrian tapping away at his computer. How could he sit there like that, hour after hour, without cramping or going out of his mind? She’d never seen anyone work so hard or for so long.

He looked up while his fingers never missed a beat. “Something wrong?”

“I’m so bored, I’m bended.” She flounced forward to throw herself into the chair across from him. Sighing, she propped her chin in her hand and stared at him. “What do you do all day to keep from losing your mind?”

“Work.”

She’d figured that one out, but there had to be more than just working all the time. “Yeah, me too. Any idea what we’re supposed to do with free time?”

“No.”

“You’re not being very helpful. Can’t we do something?”

“Like?”

“I don’t know. You could start by laying off the monosyllabic answers—in case no one ever told you, that’s really annoying.” She sighed. “What do normal people . . . Um, never mind.”

He tilted his head back like she’d slapped him. “Are you suggesting I’m not normal?”

She held her hands up in mock surrender. “Oh yeah, baby, you ooze normality. From the top of that assassin’s braid to the tip of those boots that I’m pretty sure conceal retractable blades. You’re just an average joe. No doubt about it. Cause, you know, everyone sits for hours doing nothing but typing . . .”

Nykyrian felt another peculiar urge to smile at her sarcasm. He had no idea why she charmed him, especially given the implied insult. But . . .